Cinema 8

Anyone who knows me knows how important film is to me. It goes beyond being a hobby, it’s become a vital part of my life. The more I fall in love with movies, the more it becomes a part of me, and at this point, I’ve integrated them into almost all areas of my life, most importantly my writing. They inspire me, they drive me, and they show me how much is possible with my own goals, not only through the characters but through the people who make these movies as well. I’ve found that one thing more important than the movies themselves is how you watch them. I don’t go to the theater as often as I’d like, and I don’t get as much peace to watch movies at home as I want, but I manage. I think we take it for granted though, how special cinemas really are. It’s not just an activity or a building, it’s an experience. Maybe you’ll go to the grocery store or a Mcdonald's for no reason, and you can go to a mall or a gas station and feel nothing, but when you go to the movies you have a purpose, there’s intent. You’re looking for something out of the movie you’re gonna watch, and depending on how it goes, you create a relationship with that piece of fiction. Being in the dark, in the silence with nothing else to focus on, it’s intimate. Whether that intimacy is shared between someone with you, around you, or someone on the screen, there is something profound about paying eighty dollars to spend two hours on what’s ultimately a gamble on whether you actually like the movie. 

Originally I wanted this story to be quick, and take me a week or two. I was looking to post something quick before I uploaded a bigger story. That was in the Fall of 2021, so I’d say I’m not on track to meet that goal any time soon. Initially, I based this story on KKB’s song “Cinema” and tried to replicate how well it captures the feeling of going to the movies, as well as focus my love for movies into something tangible. As the idea grew, it went in a few different directions, but after a while, Cinema 8 became a way for me to communicate my love of film in a way people can understand. Writing a review can show you why I love one movie, but putting my passion in this perfect context allows me to open my heart in a way that wouldn’t be possible with any other medium. Except, maybe a movie. Writing, film, music, art in general; it all has a deep-rooted place in my heart, and hopefully, through this story, you all can see why they mean so much to me. I hope you all have as much passion for something in your life, and I hope you all enjoy this story.

I step quietly into the lobby, taking in the heavy scent of popcorn. It’s late, but the theater is aglow with life. The neon signs hum with a quiet joy, and the cutouts stand tall, as if to greet me with their bombastic advertising. I appreciate their hospitality. There’s no one else, save for me and the employees stuck closing. Usually I like the drama of the lobby, but seeing it empty, it gave me a chance to appreciate it in a way I don’t think I ever have before. So as I stepped in, I allowed myself to take in the atmosphere, and enjoy my time in the theater.

As I wind through the empty box office line, I start thinking about the movie I was going to see. It’s a french film, starring a popular Chinese actress. She’s playing herself, working on a movie set while everything falls apart and the director falls into a depression over the state of the film. The actress and the director find themselves in love with the character she’s playing, but the ways in which they release that love can’t be understood by those around them, alienating them from the cast and crew, who are too caught up in their own situations to care about the artform of cinema. It’s so… it’s inspiring and sad. The movie heavily suggests that art in film is dying, but I find it so beautiful how it expresses feelings of passion for art. Even though it’s a very bittersweet movie, I just… I love what it has to say about film. 

I haven’t been able to shut up about it all week; I’d seen it twice at home, and I own a copy of it, but the moment I found out it was playing at a theater I knew I had to jump on the opportunity. All my friends think I’m pretentious because I’d rather watch obscure foreign movies, but I couldn’t care less. I mean this is a really important film, not just to me but like, culturally. It feels stupid to say, but movies are my life, and they just don’t get them like I do. They may watch some of the same movies, but not in the same way I do. And the ones they don’t watch they just couldn’t understand. Well, I don’t mean it like that, I just… I… aw hell maybe I am a little pretentious.

The cashier meets my gaze as I approach the counter. He gives me a small wave before I’m within talking distance.

“How’s it going Sarah? What’re we watching tonight?” he asked. I opened my mouth to tell him, but another thought stopped me.

“Do… do I know you?” I asked.

“Well I mean, technically. I’d assume you would recognize me. I see you in here all the time. But I guess it’s just me that knows you,” he told me. I looked at his face for a minute; he seemed vaguely familiar, in a dream-like sense. I could remember his hair, and his voice definitely rang a few bells, but…

“You don’t know who I am do you?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t usually pay attention to faces,” I said, slightly embarrassed. It was true of everyone, except for the hot girl with the red highlights at concessions, who sadly worked the morning shift that day.

“That’s fine, just thought I’d try being polite. Anyways, what’re we here for?” he said. I tried to push away my embarrassment and stay focused on the movie.

“One ticket for Irma Vep please,” 

“Alrighty, the top is where the screen is. Everything green is available, everything grey is taken, let me know where you want to sit. It’s not a touch screen,” As he spoke, a screen on the counter turned on. It showed what the theater looked like, and how the seating was arranged. Two people had bought tickets in advance, both seats in the middle. In spite of what he told me, on instinct I tapped on a seat toward the back.

“Oh um, L7,” I told him. I felt like a complete dumbass, but it's a screen facing me. Of course I’m gonna touch it. I go to the movies often enough to know better, but I do anyway. It’s an instinct, it’s primal, it’s just human nature. Or maybe I’m just an idiot, who knows.

In a few seconds he had the ticket printed off. I paid in cash, and he handed me my ticket with my change.

“You have a good time Sarah,” he said as I walked away. As I drew near concessions, I couldn’t help but smile at the grandeur of it all; the prices mixed with the presentation made it funny just how much importance theaters placed on food, as opposed to the movies themselves. The posters sit off to the sides, in the dark, while the food is put front and center. I think the menus take up more space than some of the theaters. I don’t know, it’s just funny to think about.

The popcorn machine was going off, its kettle popping a thousand tiny puffs of goodness into existence. Under the bright lights they almost looked cute… or maybe I was just hungry. The slurpee machine was hypnotizing. Its four flavors spun perpetually, all in an effort for that little light under it to turn on. But of course it’s never on for the flavor I actually fucking want so I alwas have to settle for goddamn blueberry, which isn’t even that bad a flavor but if I could pick, I’d choose that one last and it’s just so irritating that they never have exactly what I want. Though, of course beggars can’t be choosers, which is why I’m begging to be able to choose.

“Hiya Sarah,” the concession worker said as I came close.

“Oh umm, you know me too then?” I asked.

“Everyone knows you here bud,”

“What’ll it be?” they asked as they took a rag and started wiping off the counter.

“A large popcorn, a box of Reeses Pieces and a… dammit!” I said under my breath, “A blueberry slushie.”

“Gotcha, give me two minutes,” they said while they rung me up. I nodded as they turned and went to work. I looked behind me at an array of posters on the wall. Half of the movies coming were sequels, two were reboots, and the rest were original scripts or indie. As I stood there, recounting the ones I had seen, I thought about how weird my taste is. I watch a lot of different movies, stuff that varies in quality, production and purpose, but never anything bad. I rarely ever come away from something thinking it was deplorable. I’ve never left a theater feeling like I wasted my time; no film has no value in my eyes. I just can’t imagine that something hundreds of people made the effort to work on has no importance whatsoever, that a film's entire production means nothing once it comes out. I just don’t understand how someone could detest a film completely, how they could truly hate it. Unless it was, I don’t know a snuff film or pedophilic or something else morally wrong. Maybe that says a lot about me, who knows. Or maybe it was late and I was making a big deal out of a Marvel poster for no reason.

“Hey!” the stand worker called. They were at the other end of the counter with my order. I snapped out of my trance and walked toward them.

“Sorry for making you come all the way down here. It’s a formality,”

“No it’s alright,” I enjoy the routine, the formality. It’s partly why I come in the first place. I paid, then picked up the food and went to the butter dispenser. They left to go restock and finish cleaning.

There’s something nice about adding butter on your own popcorn. It’s the final step before you walk into the theater, one last act of preparation before the experience begins. It’s like putting the cherry on top of a milkshake, except cherries don’t destroy your cholesterol. I always pour some down the side of the bucket, so that more than just the top gets covered. My dad taught me that one. 

They put salt and pepper shakers next to the dispenser recently. I think seasoning popcorn at a movie theater is a little overkill but it’s always nice to have options. I sprinkled some black pepper anyways, just to be indulgent.

The way to the theater isn’t long, but I take my time walking in. I like listening to what’s happening in other theaters. It’s like I’m putting my ear to the window of another world. There was a midnight premiere for some new blockbuster; it was about as loud as it could be. There was a Geico ad playing in the theater next to mine, and someone must’ve left last month's cash cow playing in the farthest auditorium. I could recognize the theme from down the hall.

The screen is still dark as I enter my own theater. I love being there early, ignoring the trivia games and watching the previews. It feels as vital to the experience than the movie itself. As I go up the ramp I see no one else. It always feels like an accomplishment, being early enough to be alone. I find the seat I picked, toward the back and in the middle. 

“Best seat in the house,” I say to myself as I move the cushion down. The screen comes on, and I wait for the ads to start.

There’s nothing unusual in the roll; plenty of insurance ads, an overly colorful Coke commercial, and some two minute globe trotting spectacle that turned out to be a Ford ad. Nicole Kidman wants me to go to the place I’m already at, so our time together is a bit useless. I’m glad we have something in common though. The Avengers are going to save the world for the upteenth time this year, and there were a couple other trailers for movies I already have tickets to, and others that I’m foaming at the mouth to see. When it’s all said and done, I’ve eaten a decent chunk of my popcorn, and my ICEE is already gone. A few more people have shuffled into the theater. They don’t say anything, they just eat their popcorn, and wait for the movie to start. And even though we don’t speak, for a moment, we are one in the silence. 

This theater is my home. I’ve laughed in this theater, I’ve cried in this theater, I’ve lived in this theater and hopefully one day I’ll die in it. As a teen it helped me become the person I am, and in my adulthood, it’s become my haven. The lights dim and the reel rolls; the sound invigorates me as the screen comes to life. What were rows of empty chairs becomes a phantom audience in the dark. My eyes are filled with a thousand different sights; scenes of joy, sorrow, fury and a dozen other emotions. My heart flutters and my mind races as I dip into another world for two hours or so. For a moment I can almost see myself in the moment, right there next to the characters as they make their journey. When the tension rises I can’t help but smile in awe, and as the credits roll I feel a rush of euphoria. The phantom audience disappears, and the rows of empty seats take their place again. I sit for a while to take it all in. I’m the last one out of the theater, right as one of the employees comes in to sweep.

“Goodnight Sarah,” she says as I come down the stairs. I smile and wave as I leave. The lights in the lobby start going out, and the employees finish closing for the night. I heard a faint goodnight as I stepped outside into the cold air, but the door closed before I could say anything back. As I walked to my car, the giant neon sign lit my way. I drive away in tranquil silence, having once again satisfied my love of cinema.